Light Within
by Maygin
Summary: Continuation of ‘When All Other Lights Go Out’. Dean and Sam learn to let go.


**Light Within**

By: Maygin

Summary: Continuation of 'When All Other Lights Go Out'. Dean and Sam learn to let go.

Blah-blah Section: Well, this looks to be turning into a series of short stories as I'm already working on the fourth and fifth installments. From here on out I'll just refer to it as the "Lights Out Series". I'm going to have to make a soundtrack list for this series when I'm done with it all cuz the music I was listening to when writing all these were a huge inspiration with the general feeling and direction the stories went. So yeah…be on the lookout ;)

* * *

_When you possess light within, you see it externally. Anaïs Nin_

* * *

Ellen had taken one look at Dean's passenger before man-handling his keys from him and ordering them to stay with her for a few days. Only then did she push past her fear and pull Sam down into her arms, her embrace tight with whispered words Dean couldn't quite make out. The look on Sam's face when she finally released him, though, was one of comfort and warm appreciation.

Ellen had always had a soft spot for Sam and his gentle spirit. When Sam had left, Dean had left her a shortly worded message and then disappeared for four years, searching for his brother. Dean hadn't made any effort at contacting their friends; it just hadn't seemed right without Sam there to add his voice to the mix.

To say she was shocked to see them was obvious. To say she was pleased to see them was a complete understatement. She had kept tabs on Bobby who had picked up and moved camp after the boys had disappeared. They didn't argue with her when she insisted on taking them to Bobby's herself. She called the older hunter, informed him she was coming up for a visit but left out the part about the two guests trailing behind her pick-up in a certain black car.

It hadn't made a difference though, the second Bobby heard the familiar rumble of Dean's car, he'd shot out of his new log cabin onto the front porch. When he saw Dean climb out of the drivers side, he'd thundered down the steps cursing Dean's name every way he knew how before pulling him into a hug.

Then Dean pulled back with a huge grin on his face and stepped to the side. Bobby's eyes latched onto the other passenger standing beside the car behind Dean.

"Behold, I come bearing good news," Dean stated proudly, gesturing to his brother.

Bobby didn't seem to hear him though as he'd gone quiet and still, slowly circling around the car. Sam kept his wings folded in tight behind him, self-conscious of their presence and stood a bit awkwardly and a lot fearful of their old friend's reaction. Dean knew, he'd watched his brother shift around in his seat the last half hour when they'd pulled onto the long, dirt road that lead to Bobby's. Bobby stopped in front of Sam, eyes looking him over.

"Sam?"

Sam swallowed, his head nervously tilting to the side. "Hey Bobby," he responded quietly.

Bobby nodded. "Come here boy," his voice shook. Dean felt something in his chest swell when he saw the old hunter's eyes well up just before wrapping Sam in a tight, fatherly bear hug. Sam's face buried in Bobby's flannel shirt, his long hair covering the rest. A minute later, Bobby pulled back, giving Sam a solid pat and squeeze on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Sam," he said sincerely.

Sam nodded and answered in kind, loosening the tension in his back and wings a bit. "You too, Bobby."

"And Dean, you mother-fucking shit-head! What the hell were you thinking goin' off and disappearing like that?" Bobby yelled suddenly.

Dean blinked wide eyes in shock. "_Me_?" he said defensively and then pointed at his brother. "Sam's the one that fell of the face of the earth, literally."

And then things were back to normal. Only they weren't, because one of them was a 6'4" giant angel that couldn't really speak of what he'd been through other than with one word responses like _falling, darkness,_ _cold_ and then _light_ and _warmth_ and _sleeping_. Bobby and Ellen didn't press the issue, though Dean knew they wanted to. They were hunters after all, and hunters were the unofficial judge and jury on all things Supernatural. Their restraint was a true testament to their friendship.

That evening Bobby received a phone call from Missouri asking if the boys were with him. They spoke with her for a bit, promising to visit and generally enjoying her familiar, bubbly laugh. Then she spoke with Sam alone for a few minutes. Sam didn't say much throughout, and he said even less when he hung the phone up, just smiled appeasingly and joined them in the living room once more.

Sam stayed pretty quiet while they talked about hunting and news from other hunters. Bobby was in the middle of giving them a verbal tour of the new house when Sam suddenly spoke up.

"When's the last time you spoke with Jo?" All eyes turned to Sam, but it was Ellen who looked the most shocked and yet recovered first.

"Jo made it pretty clear the last time we talked, she wanted nothing to do with me," she said, somehow managing to make it sound not awkward or defensive.

"You should call her. She's just trying to find her way…she'll come around."

It was when Ellen cleared her throat and looked down at her hands that Sam came back to himself, dropping his own head and looking even more uncomfortable than the others.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled. "I don't know why I said that."

"No, you're right," Ellen confessed. "I'm the mother, the adult. I should swallow my pride and just call her."

"I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't sweetie. I'm just sayin' it like it is."

Another uncomfortable silence filled the room until Sam ducked his head and quietly excused himself, heading into the kitchen. Both Bobby and Ellen turned their heads toward Dean, who gratefully accepted their silent dismissal and went after his brother.

When he found the kitchen empty, Dean took his search into the back yard where dusk was settling. Sam was easy to spot without the piles of junk cars Bobby used to accumulate at his old place. Dean took a seat next to Sam on an old cobblestone step that led down to a large pond. Sam didn't acknowledge him, but neither did he ignore him.

"You alright?" Dean tried to sound casual, bumping his shoulder against Sam's.

Sam shrugged. "I guess that depends on what perspective you're asking from, the old Sam or the new one?"

"You're still the same person, Sam."

"Dean," Sam said, slightly incredulous, "I have wings."

Dean swiped a dismissive hand through the air. "That's just cosmetics."

Sam's head bowed, eyes straying distant. "I feel different too," he quietly admitted.

Dean didn't bother asking how. It didn't matter and Sam needed to understand that it didn't matter, so he didn't ask. Sam would tell him when he needed to. "Have you thought about trying out the 'ole wings?"

"Dean…"

"What?" Dean asked good-naturedly. "It could come in handy."

"With what?" Sam asked, truly baffled. "You hate flying."

"I flew half-way around the world to find you," Dean pointed out proudly, but then shook his head. "But that's not what I meant. I mean with hunting."

"Hunting," Sam repeated softly.

Dean sat up a bit, reading Sam's hesitation easily. "You don't want to hunt."

Sam visibly deflated. "Dean…I don't even know what I am anymore."

"You're still Sam Winchester, and my brother."

"I understand that, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not the same person I was before I jumped off that cliff. I've changed, physically and-" Sam paused, hazel eyes skirting across the pond. "There's something inside me, Dean. I can't explain it, but… I don't," Sam released a breath of frustration. "I don't think its evil. I just," he plucked some grass from the ground. "Who knows what I'm capable of, you know? I just don't want to mess with anything evil until I know for certain I'm not going to blow us up or go dark side."

"Sam, for the love of _God_, please do not start up with that whole dark side thing again," Dean said wearily. "Like you said, you're not that guy anymore."

"We don't know what I am, Dean."

"And that's fine. We'll figure it out," Dean assured. "No hunting for now," he promised.

Sam nodded, accepting Dean's condition and agreement. He picked up a stone and chucked it into the pond.

"So what was all that stuff about Jo?" Dean asked casually, picking up a stone of his own.

"I have no idea where that came from," Sam's head shook and then turned to look at Dean. "Ellen okay?"

Dean snorted. "She's more worried about you and your disturbing new penchant for Dr. Phil-ism's."

"It just came out of me, man," Sam confessed. "I wasn't even thinking about Jo. You guys were all talking, I just barely glanced at Ellen, and then suddenly words are just spewing out of my mouth."

Dean smirked. "So, what, your new holier than thou conscience has a thing for Jo?"

"It's not funny, Dean."

"It's a little funny."

"And I'm not holier than thou."

"Oh come on," Dean scoffed, a smirk still on his face. "You were enveloped in _light_, came back with white wings and now you're solving everyone's problems."

"That doesn't mean anything," Sam dismissed, tossing another stone into the pond.

"Only if you don't want it to," Dean hedged watching the ripples spread from Sam's rock. He could see Sam turn to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really wanna know?" Dean asked calmly.

Sam actually hesitated a moment, but true to form, "Yeah."

Dean sighed without turning from the pond. "I think you've been through so much hell growing up, Sam, spent so many years thinking you're some evil abomination, blamed yourself for things you had no control over and took more guilt on your shoulders than's fair for ten lifetimes that…" he let his sight sink beneath the pond waters, searching for the words, "I don't think you can handle the idea of being forgiven, forgiving yourself, of letting go… you can't handle the thought of being branded as something that could be good."

They both grew quiet and somewhere along the water a fish jumped, splashing and making ripples. Dean didn't comment when Sam quietly pushed to his feet and walked away, didn't turn his head to determine which way Sam was headed. If Dean could find his brother halfway across the galaxy, then he could find him on Bobby's property. And Dean knew Sam needed time, time to process, to rebuff or come to grips. Dean hoped it would be the latter. He was right about this, he was. But Sam was the one that had to work through it; there was nothing Dean could do to help him face his own demons.

Late that night, after Dean bid Ellen and Bobby goodnight, had washed up, climbed into bed and turned the light off, only then did Sam quietly come into the room, door softly clicking closed behind him, wings brushing lightly against the bedspread as he sat.

Dean waited still, the dark of the room silent, but not intrusive. Nothing seemed _dark_ with Sam around, not anymore. It wasn't that Sam's light was visible, it wasn't seen. It was felt. When Sam walked into a room now, it was like warmth followed him, like the residual feeling after a child had just wrapped their arms around your neck and told you they loved you… pure, innocent, safe.

Dean didn't know if others felt it too, but if the looks on Bobby and Ellen's faces when there were altogether said anything, he was pretty sure they did.

So he waited, letting the quiet of the room wash over them. Sam's back, flanked by the wings, was barely a silhouette on the other bed, head bowed.

"You're right," Sam's admittance was soft, somber.

Dean nodded against his pillow with a sigh and a gentle, "I know."

Dean heard Sam draw in a deep breath, his quiet voice betraying only a portion of the emotion he knew Sam was feeling. "I think maybe… that maybe I should visit them."

Dean couldn't see, but could feel the tears trail down his brother's cheeks as if they were his own. He let his eyes slip shut. "I'll come with you," he offered, despite already knowing Sam's response.

Sam hesitated, "I think I need to do this alone."

Dean swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it particularly difficult. He knew what Sam needed to do. Sam knew what Sam needed to do. Now all Dean had to do was let him do it… let go. Something he'd been otherwise unable to do… until now. "I'll be here," he said, the words quiet, painful to say.

"I know you will," Sam said with more certainty than Dean had ever heard his little brother submit to.

The next morning, soft rays of sunlight filled the guest room with two beds. On one sat Dean, cross-legged, chin resting on clasped hands, staring at the other bed, un-touched and empty. His sigh filled the room and he reminisced of childhood and old times.

An hour later he joined Bobby and Ellen in the kitchen. He didn't mention Sam's departure, and they didn't ask. Dean stayed at Bobby's for forty days, helping out around the house and helping Bobby lay down plans to set up a special library for hunters. He kept tabs on the local news in Palo Alto, San Francisco, Lawrence, Illinois. Everywhere his little brother's heart had ever been buried six feet beneath the ground, empty casket or spread ashes. Dean kept tabs.

On the evening of the fortieth day, Sam returned.

Sam walked right through the gate at the edge of Bobby's property. The first thing Dean noticed, Sam's wings were gone, the second was the smile on Sam's face, not blinding, but neither was it burdened. He even carried himself differently, shoulders back and his step light. He walked right up to Dean and just stood there.

Dean leaned on his shovel in Bobby's garden, looking Sam over, assessing. "You need a haircut."

Sam laughed, open and honest, and then grabbed another shovel from the shed and joined Dean.

It wasn't until that night, over dinner, that Dean asked. "So what happened to the feathers?"

"They're still there," Sam said around a mouthful of green beans.

"Is that so?" Dean made a show of lobbing a bread roll where one of Sam's wings would have rested. The buttery biscuit soared over Sam's shoulder and plopped onto the kitchen floor, rolling beneath a cabinet.

Bobby's arms dropped to either side of his plate, sending Dean a death glare. Sam chuckled, shoving another forkful of green beans into his mouth.

"I figured out how to make them disappear."

"So they're not gone forever?" Dean checked.

"Nope."

"That's convenient," Bobby commented, ice clinking against his glass of ice tea in hand.

"Fuck that," Dean said loudly, bread crumbs flying from his mouth.

Bobby's hand shot out, whapping Dean upside his head. "Don't cuss at the damn table."

Sam attempted to cover his chuckles with his fork hand and Dean presented his own glare to all occupants of the table, which was unapologetically ignored, much to his annoyance.

"Convenience has nothing to do with it." Dean re-stated. "After all the crap life's put us through, I figure we're due a few _conveniences_."

"Life isn't a set of weights on a scale," Sam spoke up casually, his attention on his mashed potatoes he was currently smashing butter into, seemingly oblivious to the two set of eyes suddenly fixated on him. "You just have to make due with the cards you're dealt. It's what creates character and defines your role in the world." Sam lifted a forkful of potatoes and his eyes, promptly freezing with the fork in his mouth, eyes bouncing between Dean and Bobby. "What?" he said around the potatoes.

"For cryin' out loud," Bobby growled, setting his glass on the table. "Didn't your daddy teach you two shit-heads _anything_ about table manners?"

Dean and Sam both ducked their heads, hiding their grins, but unable to disguise their laughter.

* * *

"Ellen go back to Nebraska?" Sam asked casually later that night as he folded his laundry in their bedroom. Dean, sitting back against the headboard, looked up from the book in his hands, studying his brother's poor attempt at avoiding eye contact. He closed the book and sat up straighter.

"Last I heard she was visiting Duluth."

"Minnesota?"

"Yeah."

Sam nodded, staring intently at the jeans he was folding. "Okay."

"Jo wants to see the wings."

Sam snorted and tossed a pair of balled socks at Dean who easily caught it, a big grin on his face.

"Seriously, let's see 'em."

"What, the wings?"

"Yeah." Dean tossed the socks across the room, making a basket in the trash can.

"No," Sam sighed, making a face at Dean as he moved to recover the socks.

"Why not?"

"Because, it's just… I don't know." Sam ducked his head with a sheepish smile at his rescued socks, stuffing them in his duffle.

Dean chuckled at Sam's embarrassment. "It's not like opening an umbrella indoors, Sam. You're not gonna hex us."

Sam sighed dramatically, clearly put upon, but suddenly a pair of pristine, white wings unfurled from Sam's back, along with a distinct tearing noise.

"Aw, damnit," Sam blurted, craning his neck around to see two new tears in his t-shirt.

"Forgive him father, for he knows not the things he sayeth," Dean crossed himself.

"Are you happy now, Dean?" Sam plucked at his t-shirt. "This is only the eighth shirt I've ruined."

"Do you even own eight shirts?"

"I stole some of yours."

"Well, whatever." Dean eyed the wings. "We're gonna have to get a little creative. I'm thinking Velcro."

"You're not putting Velcro wing-holes in my shirts," Sam said adamantly.

"Fine," Dean waved him off. "Keep tearing up your shirts. See if I care."

"It won't be an issue as long as you keep your wing obsession to a minimum." Sam concentrated a moment; the wings disappeared and he went back to folding.

"I do not have a wing obsession," Dean immediately defended.

"Two words, Dean," Sam paused, making eye contact, "_Fallen Angels_."

Dean's face smoothed out. "Dude, how do you _know_ these things?" he asked, honestly baffled and not a little embarrassed.

"It's called temporary internet files, Dean… look it up sometime." Sam gave Dean a pointed look before stripping his ripped t-shirt off and pulling on a new one.

"So how'd you figure it out? Did you clap three times?" Dean grinned.

Sam chuckled, folding another pair of jeans. "No," he sighed. "I got tired of only going out at night though, so I just… concentrated really hard."

"And that's it? Poof, they're gone?"

"Yeah," Sam snorted. "I wish it were that simple."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it takes a certain level of concentration to keep them gone."

Dean leaned forward and snatched up Sam's ripped t-shirt. He fingered the holes, pushing his hand through one. "Translation, you sleep shirtless now."

"I sleep shirtless now," Sam agreed, turning and kneeling on the floor, rifling through his duffle bag.

"A certain level of concentration, eh?" Dean asked mischievously. Too late, Sam caught onto his brother's voice. Dean launched from the bed, tackling Sam to the floor and tickling him mercilessly. Suddenly a loud tearing noise cut through Sam's involuntary laughter, two large wings appearing, one wing clipping Dean on the chin.

"Damnit Dean!" Sam yelled, rolling to his knees, an arm wrapped protectively around his sides and stumbling to adjust to the extra weight.

Despite the throbbing of his chin, Dean could not stop his bellowing laughter, rolling on the floor. Sam growled and tore his newly ripped shirt off in a fit, which only served to feed Dean's hilarity when it clung stubbornly to his wings.

Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed open revealing Bobby in his sleep clothes, and looking particularly put out. "You two mature adults plan on going to sleep anytime soon?"

Dean smothered his laughter with a fist while Sam gave up trying to tear off the last piece of t-shirt that refused to let go, glaring daggers at Dean.

"Sorry Bobby," Dean chuckled. "Sam was just showing me his new Playgirl pose." Dean curled up with a humorous yelp as Sam's foot connected with his side.

"Dean," Bobby growled, "Quite torturing your brother. And for God's sake, Sam, cover those things up. Your brother only has so much self control."

Dean stopped laughing and Sam shot Dean a smug look as Bobby slammed the door closed behind him.

* * *

"Did you grab the extra tank of gas?" Bobby leaned his crossed arms in Dean's window, the sun blaring brightly behind him.

"In the trunk," Dean confirmed, getting comfortable in his favorite chair.

"Know where you're headed yet?"

"Not a clue," Dean grinned, content.

"Sam still inside?"

"Yeah, probably leaving you some last minute notes on your library."

Bobby rolled his eyes with a sigh, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. "Boy acts as if I've never stepped foot in a library before."

Dean's grin softened, knowing. "It's important to him. In Sam's mind, if there's one thing he could've contributed to make Dad proud, it would've been a supernatural library."

Bobby straightened with another sigh, muttering something about sins of the father. Dean wholly agreed, but kept his tongue. Instead, he leaned out his window and yelled toward the house.

"Sam! Get a move on! We got sites to see and women to ride! Don't think I didn't hear those little noises you were making this morning in your sleep!"

A sudden crash sounded inside the house immediately followed by Sam attaching curses to Dean's name and Bobby's well callused hand smacking him upside the head. A minute later, a grumpy, shirtless Sam, with wings in tow, lumbered down the porch steps, across the lawn and sheepishly presented Bobby with a broken lamp. Bobby sighed forlornly and glared at Dean who bit his lip and shrunk down in his seat.

Sam apologized quietly, bowed his head and headed around to the passenger side of the car, his wings fading away in the sunlight. After Sam dropped into his seat and closed the door, he turned and walloped Dean upside the head.

"Sorry Bobby," Dean mumbled as he started the car.

"We'll call you when we stop somewhere," Sam muttered.

"Be careful, would ya please?" Bobby growled. "Not a lot of hunters ask questions before they shoot."

"Will do," Dean promised, shoving the shift in gear and driving out, one last wave out his window.

Sam refused to speak to him the first hour of their trip until they hit the main highway. "Go north," Sam said, eyes distant on the dashboard.

Dean didn't accelerate either way, surprised to hear Sam's voice. "I thought we were headed south, hit up the Ozarks."

"Change of plans."

"O-kay." Dean waited an appropriate amount of time before opening his mouth again. "Do I get to know what the new plan is or is that part of my punishment?" Dean pressed on the accelerator, heading toward the north on-ramp.

Sam's face smoothed out with a sigh. "Bobby's right, Dean. You can't keep turning all this into a joke."

"Give me some credit, Sam. I'm not stupid. I'd never pull something like that in front of anyone else. Bobby's family."

"I know, but…" Sam's eyes searched the surrounding farmland. "I don't have a good grasp on this yet. It doesn't take much to distract me and suddenly I'm the latest spectacle. I just…"

"We'll stay away from people for now, okay?" Dean said when Sam didn't seem to know how to end his sentence. It had been the right thing to say too as Dean watched Sam shift more comfortably in his seat. "So the plan?"

"I don't know yet." Sam's lips pressed together, eyes avoiding Dean's general direction.

"Right," Dean sighed. "Exactly how far north am I driving?"

Sam rubbed at his neck. "I don't know that either."

Dean somehow managed not to roll his eyes. "So this is– what? Gut instinct? Holy guidance?"

Sam shifted in his seat again, swallowing and finding his fingers very interesting suddenly.

"You don't know," Dean resigned with a nod. "Guess we'd better pull out the winter gear then."

Sam blinked. "We don't have any winter gear. And besides, it's fall."

Dean's head tilted. "Depending on how far north we go, it may be winter."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

"On the bright side," Dean smirked, "we could make some kick-ass snow angels."

Dean watched Sam fight the smile, knew his brother wanted to be annoyed by the comment, but the grin broke free and Dean pressed down on the accelerator with a smile of his own.

**THE END**


End file.
